Scratching Away at Prayer

Christianne was so good as to open up about another step in her journey as a writer. What follows is not much (I typed it out unedited last night), but I've written a very raw draft of my own prayer about what I trust is my calling. I'm not entirely sure why I am posting it; I simply trust that it is something I should make public as our gifts are not meant for ourselves, but for the building up of the Body of Christ.


Lord, I am not sure why You have done it, but You’ve made me to be a writer. Of all the things I know, so little seems to be completely black and white (perhaps I'm prone to over-analyze things, even my propensity to over-analyze). One thing I have come to know for sure is that I am lost without You; another is that You have made me for the task of writing. But as I pull out my laptop yet one more time I am faced with a writer’s nightmare: I have nothing to say. There are no gleaming strokes of genius at the keyboard here today.

I look at the brilliant list of ideas I’ve brainstormed and now find them lifeless, dull, prosaic. I am uninspired when I look at them. I feel unequal to the task to which You've called me.

You gave this to me as a gift Lord, and I need to trust that You will perfect it. As I was sinking into obscurity in a dull, soul-sucking, mind-numbing job, You’ve called me to step out and write. I was trying to hide in the shadows, but You want to shine through me. I suppose I am afraid of all it will mean to be obedient, of what it means to be called out of hiding, to live the life you have for me.

What will I say? You will let me plug away at my brilliant-but-boring ideas until I realize that on my own, I have little to say that will be of value to anyone who reads it. You will perfect my gift, but I first need to let you. You will give me the ideas, but I must ask, and then let You give them. I will find the voice You gave me; You will refine it. I so desperately desire to honor You with what You've given and I confess I’ve been attempting to do it entirely in my own power. No wonder I am so lost.

May I hold my gift with open hands to You always, trusting that He who gave it will not leave me unattended in its use. Breathe on me; make fresh what has been stagnant. Teach me to trust your perfect timing.